


Ten Minutes More

by asimpleline18



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, John-centric, One Shot, Post Reichenbach, Ten More Minutes, johnlock if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:32:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asimpleline18/pseuds/asimpleline18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has been without Sherlock Holmes for three years and has moved on with his life the best he can. One day, he heard two other doctors at the surgery muse over a rhetorical question that leads to John's own contemplation.</p>
<p>  <i> If you had ten more minutes to spend with someone who passed away, who would it be and what would you do?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Minutes More

People love to ask those abstract questions where no one has a definite answer. What kind of advice would you give your younger self? If you could go back and change something in your life, what would you change? They can suppose but there are so many options. A million answers can be imagined but which one is the most preferred?

Lately, John Watson was faced with one such question. It started plaguing him when he overheard two other doctors talking at the surgery.

_If you could spend ten more minutes with someone who passed away, who would it be and what would you do?_

John immediately knew the answer to the first part of that question. Of all the relatives who had passed away and the comrades killed in action, John longed to talk to the person he lost that belonged to neither category.

It has been three years since Sherlock Holmes stepped off of roof of St. Bart's Hospital. It has been three years since John Watson lost his best friend and the person who brought color back into his life after Afghanistan. Of course the army doctor learned to cope after the detective's death. He was a soldier. He had seen a lot of death in the war and in the A&E. In a very non-traditional way, John muses, he had lost Sherlock in the war against Moriarty. Neither side won. Both architects are now dead and decaying.

John is laying on the much used sofa in 221B Baker Street during his day off from the surgery. He had moved back, reluctant to leave the one place he called home as an adult. Mycroft left the detective's belongings to John's discretion and he kept everything in its place except for the body parts left in the fridge. The science equipment was boxed up and stored in the detective's old room. Clothes were still folded in the dresser and hung in the wardrobe. Even though John had come to terms with his death, he still couldn't help but keep one small spark alive that Sherlock was still alive somewhere and would return home. People think it is pathetic but John keeps believing. This was Sherlock bloody Holmes, the smartest man he ever had the pleasure of knowing. He would believe the rest of his life if that's what it took.

"Ten minutes," he says into the emptiness. "What would I do if I had ten minutes more with that bloody git?"

John wants to punch the man for committing suicide. There had to be another way. How many cases did the brilliant detective solve? How many criminals had the bold man brought down? Why had he not told John anything? They had been partners since the day they were introduced to each other. How many times did the doctor patch up the reckless man? How many times did he make sure Sherlock was fed and had sleep? He didn't give two shits about the detective's claim that "it was all transport". Even transport needed proper care.

"Ten minutes more," the doctor quietly muses.

He punches the bastard when he comes through that door. He's there in all his arrogant glory: scarf tied around his neck, collar pulled up, long coat swishing in with him. There are so many reasons to punch him that John's head spins when he tries to enumerate them. For jumping. For calling himself a fake. For charging John to spread a lie. For going at it alone.

John knows everything. They found the detective's phone damaged but recoverable next to the body of James Moriarty on St. Bart's rooftop. The whole conversation plus his last phone call was there. John has the detective's "note" on his own phone so to carry a piece of his deceased friend with him all the time. He keeps living to spite his best friend's suicide.

Yes, he definitely punches the berk, most likely knocking him to the floor. John then predictably helps him up and leads him to the armchair that was once quietly assigned as his in order to patch the sod up just like he did in life. It doesn't matter if the detective is an angel or a ghost or some other supernatural being. This would be considered a waste of time but he is John Watson: soldier and doctor, fighter and caregiver. Forgetting his oath, he has done harm before doing good but this simple act would be more comforting than any words they could exchange at this time.

John tells the man to explain himself. He doesn't say much himself. He is better with actions than words and he got his point across already.

He listens to that melodic baritone voice explain everything though John know s the words. He wants to hear the deductions again. He wants to witness for one last time that thing that attracted the doctor to that enigmatic man in the first place. He wants to hear one last grand deduction even if it means the last little bit of time together.

"Ten minutes more with him," John says again as he surfaces from his thoughts.

Knowing his body, his leg gives out as he stands. He is back to limping and using his cane if it is necessary. His hand trembles again. John can pull it together at the surgery but it worsens at home.

He collapses and the detective moves to catch him and help him back to his feet. John is steady again even if for a moment because that git is back in the doctor's presence.

John isn't an emotional man and he does not cry but he sees himself explaining what that fall really did to the good doctor. He knows he can't keep his voice steady no matter how much control he can exert over himself. It cracks and fails. He stammers and chokes out words but he does not let a tear escape.

Sherlock stands there quietly for once in his life and listens to John. He offers his explanation after the shorter man is done. He knows it may not be enough but it is all the detective has at this point. No more can he be by his friend's side. He helped John out of his depression and he sent him right back. No friend should have to do that.

"Ten minutes more with Sherlock," he repeats for a fourth time.

In a gesture out of place for either men, John hugs Sherlock as the detective sweeps through the door with that familiar wool coat. If anyone came back into his life after leaving it permanently, he would have no qualms about hugging them, assuring him of some kind of tangibility.

He steps back and looks up into that familiar face and smiles. John has him sit down in his usual armchair and sets about making tea like Sherlock has finally come home from a trip. They may get on each other's nerves but they are still friends with moments of warmth between them. This is a warm homecoming - even for ten minutes more.

As the kettle is set to heat up, John sits across from the detective - now devoid of his coat and scarf - and asks about his trip. John can't imagine what kind of conversation would occur. What does one talk about after returning from the dead?

As they talk with each other, the kettle boils and John continues his side of the conversation while Sherlock still occupies his chair. He makes two cups of tea that are going to be drunk for first time in three years. John has ceased to be surprised when he notices the occasional cup of tea left on the kitchen counter, a reminder of a deeply ingrained habit. But the detective is here. He's drinking his tea again, even if it is just one more time.

"If I had ten minutes more with Sherlock Holmes, maybe I could live my life again," John sighs.

"I could give you ten minutes," a voice from the doorway announces, "but I'd rather give you the rest of a lifetime."


End file.
